


Oasis

by Exxact



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Amok Time, Catlike Vulcans, F/F, Plomeek Soup, Star Trek Femslash, T'Pristine, pre-pon farr, rated T for implied sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exxact/pseuds/Exxact
Summary: “You have made Plomeek soup before.”“With what level of certainty do you say that?” Christine teases, watching T’Pring take another spoonful.  “Your eyebrows are telling me it’s somewhere around 75%.”“Only with practice could a Terran master the recipe.”“And only a Vulcan could logic their way around giving a compliment.”A very short oneshot for this pairing while I work on a longer fic about them.
Relationships: Christine Chapel/T'Pring, Implied Spirk - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Oasis

Christine’s hands are steady as she kneels and sets the bowl down upon the meditation tray, her eyes locked upon T’Pring’s.

“The soup I have prepared for she who is my wife.”

_Wife_. The word, though it gives Christine the same thrill she’s always imagined to speak it, feels too mundane to describe T’Pring even in this simple moment, her hair unbound, stripped to a loose pair of meditation trousers. In the four days since what Len has deemed the “double Vulcan shotgun wedding of the century”, T’Pring has managed to bond their souls together for eternity, join the _Enterprise_ as an independent researcher, and give Christine bites along her thighs so obvious that she’s had to replicate trousers. No, there is nothing ordinary about T’Pring, and Christine loves her for it, even as she folds her hands and closes her eyes against her potential disapproval once she has taken her first spoonful.

“You have made Plomeek soup before.”

“With what level of certainty do you say that?” Christine teases, watching T’Pring take another spoonful. “Your eyebrows are telling me it’s somewhere around 75%.”

“Only with practice could a Terran master the recipe.”

“And only a Vulcan could logic their way around giving a compliment.”

T’Pring offers her hand in _ozh'esta_ , allowing the kiss to linger until half of her soup has disappeared. Christine’s focus never waivers, determined as she is to get as much nourishment as possible into T'Pring before the _plak tow_ takes her.

After setting the spoon down in the empty bowl, T’Pring blinks, her eyes remaining closed for several seconds, crinkling slightly at the corners. Since reading about the feline heritage of Vulcans, Christine can’t help but grin every time her bondmate does so.

“I must return to my meditative state,“ she says when she opens her eyes again. Despite the heat of the room, her nipples are peaked.

Christine nods, lifting the bowl and rising to her feet. The temperature is truly stifling, and she contemplates a shower once she’s recycled it. “I’m glad you liked the soup. I enjoyed making it. And watching you drink it. I think I told you that Mr. Spock—“

The name of her former betrothed is barely out of Christine’s mouth before she feels T’Pring’s hands grip her shoulders, her eyes narrowing to scan the room.

“ _Spock_ ,” T’Pring hisses, pressing her nose directly against Christine’s jugular, rubbing her cheek back and forth against her neck.

“Is the fever beginning, darling?” 

A shiver through the quiescent bond and a rush of heat to her belly are all the answer Christine needs. 

“ _T’nash-veh_.”

  
  
When the soup bowl hits the wall this time, Christine is far too busy to notice it.


End file.
